The Amazing Adventures of a Hufflepuff Smart Mouth
by Mintaka the Comedienne
Summary: The epic journey of a Hufflepuff third-year who's a bit of a troublemaker. I'd really appreciate some reviews. Chapter four is up. FINALLY!
1. Meet the Obnoxious Aldolescent Male!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. Harry Potter is probably glad that I do not own him.

Kevin Whitby was mentioned being sorted into Hufflepuff in GoF. So he IS a canon character! (Sorta) Please review, if you can spare one minute of your precious time to help a wretched soul like me.

---

My name is Kevin Whitby. I'm a third year at Hogwarts. I'm in Hufflepuff. My hobbies are sleeping, eating, reading (only on occasion) and causing general mayhem. My role models are Fred and George Weasley.

Yeah, I know, utter crap, right? It sounds like a bad writing assignment that they might give you in a Muggle school.

So...meet me, Kevin Whitby. My friends, Ella Branstone and Owen Cauldwell, are what other people have described as "troublemakers." We see ourselves more as "humor enhancers," but, hey, it's all a matter of perspective. I am short, pale, freckly, and skinny. I have messy mousy-brown hair that Eleanor once described as "the color of owl pellets and the texture of moldy straw." To which I replied "May I quote you on that?" She grinned evilly.

I'm a half-blood. My mum works for the Misuse of Magic office, and my dad is a Muggle comedian. 'Nuff said. My father tells a story about going to tell my mum's mum that they wanted to get married. Gran just started laughing.

Owen, Ella, and I cause a lot of mayhem at school. The professors don't really appreciate our antics most of the time. I think part of the problem is that I'm just a smart-ass. The other part of the problem is probably my constant references to Muggle pop culture. Like when I called Professor Flitwick "Yoda." He didn't get it, but he gave me lines anyway.

Once, I told Professor McGonagall that she took herself too seriously. Boy, did I pay for that. Not only did I lose my bet with Owen, but I spent an hour scrubbing desks with a very frightening cat watching me.

Another time, in Potions class, I followed the directions for a Calming Draught in reverse order, just to see what would happen. Turns out you get a fizzy, neon-green potion that looks and tastes suspiciously like Mountain Dew. And a week's worth of detentions.

There are so many of these stories. Eventually all the teachers lost it, and gave me one huge list of lines to copy. They called it "Things I Am Not Allowed To Do At Hogwarts." It was a list of, oh, say, 150 rules that I expressly had to follow.

Eleanor and Owen found the whole thing pathetically comical. Owen, due to some genius of his, figured how to get a laptop working at Hogwarts, complete with Wi-Fi. He put the whole list on the internet. Eleanor, having been raised by two magical parents, still doesn't understand this. She thinks the internet only exists inside Owen's computer, and simply can't comprehend how all those other MySpace users can see his page.

But the awful thing is, everyone thinks these things are funny, but none of the Muggles actually believe that someone was actually at Hogwarts, causing all that mayhem. I mean, who doesn't want credit for their work?

So here is my story. I don't really suggest drinking milk while reading it, unless you really love spraying milk out of your nose. (I know I do)

---

I got the idea for the story from those icons that are "Things I am not allowed to do at Hogwarts." I thought they would all make funny stories. This is a prequel of sorts. Please reivew. Constructive crticism would be nice. I know it's not worth your precious time to help a wretched novice like me, but I know if you look into the inner confines of your soul you'll be able to find the goodness to review.


	2. Lucky Charms and Seamus Finnigan

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own Lucky Charms. I don't own a Tivo. I do, however, own a hand-knitted scarf, of which I am exceedingly proud. (Note the correct usage of a prepositional phrase)

Author's Note: I am a girl, and am only imagining what the thought process of a thirteen-year-old boy. I believe it follows more along the lines of "Look! Boobs! (drool)" but if JK Rowling can pretend to know what adolescent males think, so can I.

---

Well, every time I come back to Hogwarts after the summer holidays, I'm full of Muggle nonsense and pop culture. During the summer, when I'm not online, I'm watching TV. And since my dad's too cheap to get the all-powerful "TiVo," I don't have the power to skip commercials. So I come back to Hogwarts with a load of advertisement jingles stuck in my head.

Now, before I really get started, let me explain how Seamus Finnigan and I know each other. Seamus's mum and my mum are friends. They'd go and have a coffee somewhere, or Mrs. Finnigan would stop at our house on her way to Diagon Alley, or something, and they'd have to drag Seamus and me along.

I was the kid that other parents didn't like around their child. I got everyone in trouble; I'd convince everyone to do something mischievous and the other kids would be punished too. Now, Seamus is three years older than me. He's more like a big brother than a friend. He was the kind of brother who would tease and torment his siblings; I was the kind of brother who would play pranks on the sibling who tormented his other siblings. I grew to rather respect and fear him, though not to the point where I wouldn't dump sand on his head or laugh when he stepped in dog-doo.

At Hogwarts, Seamus being such a high-and-mighty "sixth year" now, he mostly ignored me. And I, being a obnoxious little twerp who always had to be the center of attention, severely disliked that. So when I came back to Hogwarts with a "Lucky Charms" commercial stuck in my head, and an unfulfilled revenge in my heart, obviously something bad happened...

---

"Hiya, Seamus!" I piped, waving frantically. Seamus looked around, saw me, raised his eyebrows, and turned back to whoever it was he was talking to.

I did not like being ignored. So I, as a male adolescent, did the first thing that popped into my head. "Hey, Seamus, look what I can do!" I started armpit-farting Beethoven's Fifth. (that's the one that goes "DUNH DUNH DUNH DUUUUUUUNH") Dean Thomas, who'd been the dude Seamus had been talking to, started laughing.

Seamus looked disturbed, murderous, and embarrassed, all at the same time, a very bad combination. I grinned maniacally and continued making noises with my armpit. "C'mon," he said to Dean. "We'd better get on the train." Dean was still laughing.

I, having had my glorious moment of attention, had already lost interest and went to start looking for Ella and Owen.

---

For some reason, the food at breakfast isn't always the same. There's always eggs, toast, and bacon, but the cereal changes daily. And sometimes a certain cereal would be at one House table and not another. And sometimes the French toast would be at the Gryffindor table, and the pancakes would be at the Hufflepuff table. And the next day the French toast was by the Slytherins, and the pancakes were being hoarded by the Ravenclaws. (Never get between a Ravenclaw and their pancakes, that's what I always say.)

Seamus always liked this one type of sugary cereal. It was some sort of sugar-coated wheat thing mixed with sugar bits. Basically, it tastes like Lucky Charms.

Today this cereal was at the Hufflepuff table. Right between Owen and I. _(Here the author would like to point out her impeccable grammar usage.)_

A groggy Seamus appeared behind me. "You finished with that?" He pointed at the bowl of the pseudo-Lucky Charms.

"Maybe," I said obnoxiously. It is _so_ fun to mess with people when they're sleepy.

"Kevin, you little twerp, just give it to me." This wasn't nearly as menacing as it sounds. Imagine being robbed by a confused old grandmother threatening to stab you with knitting needles. Not so scary.

"Owen!" I said. "Seamus Finnigan is after me Lucky Charms!"

Half the Hufflepuff table exploded in laughter. The other half, along with Seamus, looked confused. I still have a vivid image in my mind of Owen shooting pumpkin juice out his nose.

And a joke was born.

---

"Mr. Whitby," Professor McGonagall said threateningly.

"Sorry, professor, won't happen again." I had spilled ink all over the lines McGonagall was making me write. "I will not make obscure Muggle pop culture references. I will not make obscure Muggle pop culture references. I will not make obscure Muggle pop culture references. I will not make obscure Muggle pop culture references."

"Do you know why you are writing lines, Mr. Whitby?"

"Because I make obscure Muggle pop culture references?"

"Because your jokes get old and tasteless after a while."

I did my best I-am-meek-and-humble look. Surprisingly, for one with an ego as inflated as mine, I have a very convincing meek-and-humble look.

"I am sorry."

Professor McGonagall gave me a you're-not-fooling-me-kid look.

I grinned cheekily.

Professor McGonagall has a very good you're-not-fooling-me-kid look.


	3. Mountain Dew and Potions Directions

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not my property. There are a million brilliant and witty ways to say this (and some that are not so witty) and I can't think of a good one. So you will have to suffer. Mwa ha ha ha haaaaaa!**

It's 8:30 PM and I have a try-out for a master class tomorrow morning, but dammit, I REALLY wanted to post this.

Thank you to all the wonderful people who have found it in their good souls to review this piece of...erm..."junk." Here's some cookies for your browser. _(hands cookies)_

Note: I had something really insightful and interesting to say, but I forgot what it was. Damn.

--

Professor Snape is frightening. Really, really frightening, especially when you follow potions directions in the wrong order.

I'm an adolescent male. I'm sort of what you might perhaps call a "class clown." I don't get frightened easily. I also have this thing called "a complete lack of respect" for my teachers. So I find it kind of fun to mess with Snape.

Ella likes to egg me on. She doesn't find him remotely frightening. One time, (and I swear this is true) she actually _gave Snape soap_, and he didn't even give her detention. That girl is a master. She is nearly as mischievous as I am, yet she has never been given detention, not once. In contrast to me, who barely has an evening when I'm not writing lines or scrubbing Stinksap off the greenhouse walls. (That is a very, _very_ long story, which needs an entire chapter to have justice done to it.)

I like Mountain Dew. I dunno if maybe you've noticed, though, but Mountain Dew kind of has a side effect. Yeah, Mountain Dew has a lot of caffeine. And I don't know if you know this, but caffeine makes you hyper, especially if you're a male adolescent like me. And the sugar? Well, the sugar doesn't help.

One time, I gave Ella some Mountain Dew. That was a mistake. Ella's kind of a tiny girl. She's four foot eight, _(oops, American units. She's about 143 cm)_ and rather thin. And she's a hyper little critter when she's not laced with caffeine. Three sips of the stuff and I couldn't keep track of her for more than ten seconds.

One day in potions class, we were supposed to be brewing calming draughts. (Owen likes to call it the "chill-pill potion." I still have not convinced him that this was only funny the first time, and he can stop saying it now.) Only nobody in our class had made one successfully. So Snape kept making us do it over again every time, until someone made a passable calming draught.

Owen had had the idea of following potions directions in reverse order for a long time, but he wasn't brave enough to try it. Ella and I, however, are rather brave fools. I am brave, perhaps to the point of stupidity. I, the infamous troublemaker, had to try it, at least once. And I figured, "Hey, why not, right? Snape doesn't scare _me_."

--

"Lacewing flies, stir counterclockwise six times, add powdered root of asphodel, stir clockwise three turns," said the book. (Of course, this was only written in the book. The book didn't actually _say_ anything. However, you really never can be sure at Hogwarts, so I was just clearing that up.) Right. Stir counterclockwise three turns, add the asphodel, stir clockwise six times, add the lacewing flies. It was easy.

First the potion turned black and oily. Then it was clear, sticky and bubbly. The asphodel caused it to emit orange steam and turn sunshine yellow. Stir counterclockwise, and add the lacewings. Then an odd thing happened. The potion turned neon green and fizzy. Owen, in one of his rare acts of stupidity, stuck his finger in it and tasted. Ella followed suit.

"Bloody hell! You've made-"

"Mountain Dew!" Ella interrupted. She started laughing hysterically. Owen looked surprised.

"So I guess that would be the opposite of a calming draught," he said with a tone of mild incredulity. A rather loud, carrying, tone of mild incredulity it was, too.

"Mr. Whitby?" said a very menacing voice.

"Yes sir?" I said in my most innocent voice.

"I am sure you are aware that it is not acceptable to follow potions directions in reverse order."

"Sir, I simply was curious as to what would happen."

"Mr. Whitby, a week's worth of detentions."

"Yes sir."

--

_I will not follow Potions directions in reverse order just to see what happens.  
I will not follow Potions directions in reverse order just to see what happens.  
I will not follow Potions directions in reverse order just to see what happens.  
_  
My arm was getting numb. I smiled, though not because my arm was numb. I can just imagine going home to my mum and saying "Guess what I learned at Hogwarts this year! How to make Mountain Dew!" I am _so_ lucky my mother has a good sense of humor.

--

I'll give you a cookie if you review. I'll give you two cookies if you can tell me who Saint-Saens is, and I'll give you THREE cookies if you tell me what country he's from. FIVE cookies if you name one of his "works."


	4. Harry Potter and his Scar Senses

**Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER, OREOS, OR SPIDER MAN. THIS IS PROBABLY BEST FOR ALL OF US. **

I owe a big thanks to Iryana, who has been so considerate as to beta this nonsense for me. I highly recommend the one-shot she wrote for the Bartimaeus Trilogy, called "In the Waiting."

FuzzBucket gets a cookie for reviewing, and Iryana and CaughtInTheMiddle both get five cookies for 1) reviewing, 2) knowing who Saint-Saens was, 3) where he was from, and 4) something he wrote. I would like to give many thanks and praises for those of you kind enough to review.

--

Ella, Owen, and I have a very bad New Year's tradition. We play "Truth or Dare." Is it stupid? Yes. Is it extremely unwise? Absolutely. Does it always produce spectacular results? Heck yes it does. In our first year, Ella somehow wound up dangling from a chandelier. She had to be levitated down by an exceedingly nervous Owen, who was the only one to have learned the spell, but had only mastered it the day before. Last year, Owen attempted to waltz with a rather affronted suit of armor. Turns out male suits of armor don't appreciate having to dance with other men. But how were we supposed to determine the gender of a suit of armor, really?

The game quickly evolved from "Truth or Dare" to "Dare, Otherwise You Will Be Teased For The Next Five Years For Being A Wimp." I think when we first began to play, Ella chose truth once or twice. (We couldn't think of anything more interesting to ask than "Who do you have a crush on?" Ella always responded "YOUR MUM!" and that was that.) At this point truth isn't really an option anymore. And besides, daring people is _much_ more fun.

--

As third years, we have never had anything to do with Harry Potter. Everyone seems to assume, well, you go to Hogwarts, don't you? You must know Harry Potter! We certainly know who he is, but you see, we are but lowly Hufflepuff third years, and Harry Potter is a big Gryffindor sixth year. We cower in fear when the mighty sixth years walk by. We practically worship the scared ground the awesome sixth years tread upon. We kiss his feet as he walks by, his shoelaces are worshipped with reverence and...

Well…not really. My point is, I don't know the guy. But under the influence of homemade Mountain Dew and an enormous pile of Chocolate Frogs, we met Harry Potter in a very peculiar way.

--

"Ella's turn!" Owen shouted eagerly.

Ella rolled her eyes. "Bring it on," she challenged, striking a karate pose.

Owen grinned maniacally at her. "I dare you to…" He paused a moment, mockingly stroking his chin. "I dare you to run around the common room barefoot then lick your own foot!" I had to admit, it was a dastardly plot indeed. A wonderfully dastardly plot. I was almost disappointed that I hadn't thought of it myself.

Ella grimaced. "Deal. But I get to decide which foot."

"Deal," Owen agreed. Ella kicked off her trainers and yanked off her green-and-purple argyle socks. They weren't "standard" for Hogwarts uniform, per se, but it was the last day of break. She commenced running in circles around the Hufflepuff common room. She even threw in some wild shouting. Owen was laughing his head off.

Now, as you may or may not know, some very strange things go on in the Hufflepuff common room. I personally am not at liberty to tell you precisely what these things are, but let's just say that a short third-year running around without socks doesn't attract much attention. I'm also not at liberty to describe what the common room looks like, because since that wonderful lady who controls all our destinies, J. K. Rowling, hasn't revealed it yet, we are all under oath not to disclose that information. If we do, we become one of those nameless people who died in the battle at the end of Deathly Hallows. Yes, I know about Deathly Hallows. Can we get on with the story?

Ella ended her lap around the common room and plopped back in her chair. She scrutinized both feet and began licking her left one. She did this very nonchalantly, as if foot-licking was a noble hobby of British queens. Owen and I watched in a state of mixed fascination and shock.

"Erm…Ella, you can stop now," Owen said tentatively.

"Oh, but somebody spilled Oreo crumbs!" Ella protested. Seeing our expressions, she reluctantly put on her socks.

"Kevin's turn!" she declared. She thought for a moment. I saw a slightly deranged glint in her eye. (I mean, more deranged than the deranged glint that was normally there. If that glint ever went away, I'd probably take her to the hospital wing.) Ella whispered something to Owen, who began to giggle loudly. My suspicions rose dramatically. Very few things made Owen giggle. Admittedly, among those things that did were lava lamps and maraschino cherries. Long story.

They turned to me. "We dare you to go find Harry Potter," Ella announced.

"Harry Potter?" I parroted back, quite dumbstruck.

"Yes. And then you have to ask him if his scar senses are tingling," Owen added, still giggling.

I thought about it for a moment. It was crazy, it was stupid, it made me wish I'd never lent Ella _Spider Man_…in short, it was genius. "Deal," I said, standing. "Come on."

Ella and Owen looked at each other for a moment, then back at me, grinning from ear to ear. They followed me out of the common room. I, of course, had no idea where to look for Harry Potter. It didn't take me long to realize how big Hogwarts really is. Its sheer size makes finding one particular person a very difficult task. I wish someone would make a map of the school that told you where everyone was. It should have the locations of the secret passages too.

"Where do you think he would be?" Ella asked.

"I dunno. I see Hermione in the library a lot," Owen offered.

"Maybe he sneaks down to the kitchens!" I exclaimed, in one of my not-so-rare bouts of idiocy.

"I don't think he'd be flying in the snow, do you?" Typical Owen. He needs to stop being so—_logical_.

"He's probably in the common room. I don't know where Gryffindor's is, though."

"Someone told me it was in the dungeons under the lake."

"That's the Slytherins."

"Yeah, well, maybe he's in the Slytherin common room!"

"I highly doubt that."

"Maybe he's running around the Slytherin common room naked and licking his feet."

Eventually, we decided to wait for dinner. We spent the entire meal waiting to see when he would leave so we could follow him. I had no idea anyone could eat that much treacle tart. I mean, that stuff is nasty to begin with. How can you possibly eat _three servings_ of it?

Mr. Chosen Boy Who Lived To Eat The World's Supply Of Treacle Tart finished his dinner and headed out of the Great Hall, flanked by his two friends. We followed him, in super-stealth mode. Owen was humming James Bond music under his breath. Just to annoy him, I started humming Mozart. Don't ask me why I know Mozart. I'm not secretly a violin prodigy, or anything, in case you wondered. I _do_ play a mean Bach solo, though...

Potter stopped to tie his shoes. Ella shoved me toward him, causing me to stumble. Mr. Hairy-Eyebrows looked up at the stupid third year who apparently couldn't balance properly on two perfectly fine feet.

"Erm…Harry Potter?" I asked, feeling tentative and awkward, possibly for the first time in my life. He looked at me apprehensively, and nodded, really slowly. He was afraid of me, I could tell. Couldn't blame the guy, rabid fangirls tackling him daily and whatnot.

"Are your scar sense tingling?" I asked, in a weird mixture of tentativeness and obnoxiousness. He looked really concerned, angry, and confused. Like when you find a huge hairball on your pillow, but don't have a cat.

"How the hell do you know about that?" Mr. Teenage Angst asked.

"Uhh…" Really articulate, me. I glared angrily at Ella, and the sight of her evilly gleeful face inspired me. "Ella did it!" I screeched. I know, I'm very gentlemanly, aren't I? I fled, which seemed to be the wisest thing to do at that moment.

"JERK!" Ella screamed, as she began pursuing me. I imagine we left Harry to forever wonder what had just happened.

I raced through the school, with a _very_ offended girl on my heels. At some point Peeves decided to join in the fun; he procured some Dungbombs from somewhere and started pelting them at me. Ella was shouting something about what she would do to my entrails after she had burned them and nailed them to a tree. I swear, I have no idea where she gets this vulgarity from. I turned a corner, hoping to throw her off. Instead, I ran full-speed into an unsuspecting Professor McGonagall. Ella crashed into me, and threw us all to the ground. Peeves brought up the rear, blowing raspberries. We immediately began shouting at each other.

"JERK!"

"You dared me!"

"JERK!"

"What was I supposed to say…?"

"JERK!"

"Foot licker!"

"Owen dared me!"

"Foot licker!"

"IT TASTED GOOD, OKAY?"

I laughed. Ella socked me. I don't know where she learned to punch like that. I know I wasn't stupid enough to teach her. I pulled her hair in retaliation, and she smacked me hard across the face. Professor McGonagall was shouting something at Peeves, who in turn began to pelt her with more Dungbombs.

Owen came running in.

"I HAD WAFFLES FOR BREAKFAST!" he felt an odd urge to declare. That shut us all up, including Professor McGonagall, who had been berating us about running in the halls. Ella and I had stopped mid-fight to stare at him. She was yanking my ear and I had a fistful of her hair. Professor McGonagall regained her senses and immediately gave us a week of detentions. I wore my best and most infamous I-am-meek-and-humble look. Owen, while not as adept as I at the art, also wore a very convincing I-am-meek-and-humble look. Ella was shaking either out of rage or a strong desire to laugh.

--

_I will not shout in the halls._

_I will not shout in the halls._

_I will not shout in the halls._

_I will not shout in the halls._

_--_

_I will not chase other students in the halls._

_I will not chase other students in the halls._

_I will not chase other students in the halls._

_I will not chase other students in the halls._

_--_

_I will not ask Harry Potter if his scar senses are tingling._

_I will not ask Harry Potter if his scar senses are tingling._

_I will not ask Harry Potter if his scar senses are tingling._

_I will not ask Harry Potter if his scar senses are tingling._

--

"How many times do we have to write this?" Ella asked. (Again.) We were in detention, with an exceptionally stiff cat watching us.

"One hundred fifty," Owen replied in a whisper, thoroughly exasperated. "Can't you just write that down somewhere so you remember?"

"No," Ella replied obstinately. She started humming the Spider Man song under her breath.

--

If you liked it, please review. If you didn't like it, please review telling me why. I will give a large amount of cookies to anyone (besides Iryana) who can guess what piece I'm playing that was written by Saint-Saens that is currently driving me insane. Hint: The answer is hidden in another one of my stories.


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